The forest beyond the Northern Border wasn’t just dark. It was alive with silence—the kind that pressed against your eardrums, thick with old magic and older blood. The trees stood like sentinels, their bark blackened by centuries of forgotten rituals, their roots coiled beneath the earth like sleeping serpents. Moonlight filtered through the canopy in fractured shards, painting the moss-covered ground in silver and shadow. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled—not one of Kaelen’s pack, but something wilder, something older. A warning.
I moved through the undergrowth with care, my boots silent on the damp earth, my dagger loose in its sheath. The Book of Bonds was strapped to my back, its weight both burden and promise. I hadn’t brought the pack. Not even Kaelen. Elara’s words had echoed in my mind: *Go as Blair. Not as mate. Not as founder. As a woman who remembers what it’s like to be powerless.*
And so I had come alone.
Lira walked ahead, her steps quick but steady, her breath shallow. She hadn’t spoken since we left the stronghold, her eyes fixed on the path, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. I didn’t press her. Some wounds didn’t need words. They just needed action.
“It’s not far,” she whispered, pausing at the edge of a clearing. “The fae lord’s keep is just beyond. He calls it a sanctuary. It’s a prison.”
I stepped beside her, peering through the trees.
The structure wasn’t grand—no towering spires or gilded domes. Just a low, stone building half-swallowed by the forest, its windows dark, its door bound with iron sigils that pulsed faintly with stolen magic. A blood-oath seal. Meant to keep her in. Meant to keep us out.
But not meant for me.
I reached into the small leather pouch at my belt and pulled out a single drop of my blood, suspended in a vial of moonstone. My mother’s last gift. A key forged from lineage, from truth, from the very magic the fae sought to steal.
“Stay here,” I said, handing Lira the vial. “If I don’t return in twenty minutes, break the seal and run. Don’t look back.”
She stared at me, her dark eyes wide. “You can’t go in there alone. He has guards. He has magic—”
“And I have something stronger,” I said, pressing her hand. “I have the right.”
Before she could argue, I stepped forward, into the clearing.
The moment my foot touched the threshold, the sigils flared—crimson, angry, alive. A voice, cold and sharp, echoed through the clearing.
“Turn back, half-breed. This is not your domain.”
I didn’t stop.
Just raised my hand, letting my magic rise beneath my skin like a storm. The runes on my dagger glowed faintly, responding to the call of blood and memory. And then—
I spoke.
Not in spell. Not in chant.
In truth.
“I am Blair of the Bloodline. Daughter of Elise. Heir of the Contract. And by the First Law—no bond shall be forced, no magic stolen, no life bound without consent—I declare this oath void.”
The sigils screamed.
Not a sound.
A feeling.
Like glass shattering in the soul.
And then—
The door burst open.
—
The interior was dim, lit only by a single brazier in the center of the room, its flames flickering with unnatural blue. The walls were lined with shelves—vials of blood, locks of hair, strips of skin preserved in wax. Trophies. The air was thick with the scent of rot and glamour, the kind that made your skin crawl and your thoughts twist.
And in the center—
She hung.
Not from chains. Not from ropes.
From light.
Thin, silver threads of magic, woven from a blood-oath, binding her wrists, her ankles, her throat. Her body was limp, her head bowed, her breathing shallow. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, her veins dark beneath the surface. Her magic was being drained—slowly, deliberately—funneled through the threads into a crystal at the far end of the room, where a man in a robe of deep crimson stood, his hands raised, his eyes closed in concentration.
My sister.
Not by blood.
But by fate.
I didn’t hesitate.
Just drew my dagger and stepped forward.
The man’s eyes snapped open.
“You dare?” he hissed, turning. “You think you can walk into my sanctum and disrupt my work? I am Lord Dain of the Eastern Coven. I have the right—”
“You have nothing,” I said, my voice low, steady. “No right. No law. No power that hasn’t been stolen.” I raised my dagger. “And if you don’t release her now, I’ll make sure you never speak again.”
He laughed—a cold, brittle sound. “You’re one woman. I have magic. I have guards. I have centuries of tradition on my side.”
“And I have truth,” I said. “And truth doesn’t need an army.”
I lunged.
He raised a hand, and a wall of fire erupted between us, searing hot, roaring like a beast. I didn’t flinch. Just slashed through it with my dagger, the runes flaring white, cutting the flames like paper.
He snarled, throwing a bolt of lightning, but I was already moving—dodging, rolling, closing the distance. My training wasn’t in flashy spells or grand incantations. It was in survival. In precision. In the quiet, deadly art of getting close enough to end it.
I reached him.
My dagger pressed to his throat.
“Break the oath,” I said. “Now.”
He laughed again, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “You think this is about her? This is about balance. About order. About the natural hierarchy of power. You cannot destroy centuries of tradition with a blade and a lie.”
“It’s not a lie,” I said. “It’s a reckoning.”
And then—
I let my magic rise.
Not to kill.
Not to wound.
To show.
The Book of Bonds flared on my back, its light bursting through the straps, flooding the room with blinding white. The runes on my dagger burned, and I pressed it harder to his throat, letting my blood drip onto the blade.
“You want tradition?” I whispered. “Then let’s see yours.”
The magic surged.
And then—
Memory.
Not mine.
Not the girl’s.
His.
The room shifted—not in space, but in time. The brazier dimmed. The shelves blurred. And in the center—
Another girl.
Young. Frightened. Kneeling before Lord Dain, her hands bound, her eyes wide with terror. He stood over her, a dagger in his hand, his voice smooth as poison.
“You will serve,” he said. “Your magic is mine. Your life is mine. And if you resist—” he pressed the blade to her throat—“I’ll take your sister next.”
She didn’t speak.
Just closed her eyes.
And whispered, “I consent.”
The memory faded.
The room snapped back.
Lord Dain was on his knees, his face pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands trembled as he reached for the crystal.
“I’ll break it,” he whispered. “I’ll break it.”
I didn’t move the dagger.
Just watched as he shattered the crystal with a single blow.
The silver threads binding the girl snapped like glass.
She fell.
I caught her before she hit the ground, cradling her in my arms. She was cold, her breathing shallow, her skin nearly translucent. But alive. Still fighting.
I turned to Lord Dain.
“You’ll come with me,” I said. “To the Council. To face judgment.”
He looked up, his eyes hollow. “And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll let the Book decide,” I said, my voice quiet. “And it won’t be kind.”
He didn’t speak.
Just nodded.
—
We emerged from the keep as dawn broke over the trees, the sky painted in soft pinks and golds. Lira ran to her sister, tears streaming down her face, clutching her close. The girl stirred, her eyes fluttering open, weak but aware.
Lord Dain walked behind me, his hands bound with silver thread, his head bowed. He didn’t resist. Didn’t speak. Just walked, his silence heavier than any protest.
“You saved her,” Lira whispered, looking up at me. “You really saved her.”
I didn’t answer.
Just nodded, my hand resting on the Book.
Because it wasn’t me.
It was the law.
And the law had spoken.
—
The journey back was silent.
No words. No celebration. No declarations.
Just the rhythmic clop of the shadow wolves’ hooves against the stone road, the cold wind cutting through the carriage, the Book of Bonds resting between us like a sleeping child. Its cover pulsed faintly, a slow, steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. I kept my hand on it, not because I was afraid it would disappear—but because I was afraid it wouldn’t.
Because now, it was real.
The law wasn’t just written.
It was recognized.
And the world would test it.
Kaelen sat across from me, his face unreadable, his golden eyes dark. Riven and Elara were beside him, their silence heavier than any speech. I wanted to reach for him. To touch him. To say something—anything—that would make this feel like a beginning, not an ending.
But I couldn’t.
Because the truth was—
I wasn’t sure I was ready.
I’d come to destroy the Contract.
And instead—
I’d become its judge.
And that changed everything.
—
That night, I dreamed.
Not of the past.
Not of the Contract.
Of the future.
A council chamber—bright, open, filled with light. Wolves, witches, vampires, fae—all seated together, not as enemies, but as equals. And in the center—
Kaelen and me.
Hand in hand. Marked. Claimed. Bound.
But not by force.
By choice.
And beneath us—
The tree.
Stronger now. Brighter. Its roots deeper, its branches wider. And from its trunk—
The law.
Etched in silver, glowing with power.
“No bond shall be forced. No magic shall be stolen. No life shall be bound without consent.”
I woke with tears on my cheeks.
Kaelen was already awake, watching me, his golden eyes burning.
“You dreamed it too,” he said.
I nodded.
“Then it’s not just a law,” he said, pulling me close. “It’s a promise.”
And as the wind howled and the stars burned above us—
I knew.
The Contract was broken.
But our bond?
That was just beginning.